


Taking Matters Into His Own Hands

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: love_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sweat is still cooling on his body when Matt rolls onto his side and slaps at John's chest with the back of his hand.  "So," he says, "you wanna get married?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Matters Into His Own Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's love_bingo community, for the prompt "proposal"
> 
> * * *

The sweat is still cooling on his body when Matt rolls onto his side and slaps at John's chest with the back of his hand. "So," he says, "you wanna get married?"

John shifts onto his back, crosses his hands behind his head. "I gotta write my own vows?"

"No."

"'Cause that always ends up sounding like a bunch of bullshit."

"You don't have to write your own vows."

"I don't wanna be standing up there sounding like a fucking retard. Lambert and the guys'll never let me hear the end of it."

"Okay, the term is 'mentally challenged' and you totally one hundred percent do not have to write your own vows."

"Okay then."

"Okay," Matt says. He rolls over onto his back, stares happily at the ceiling. All that worry, all those late nights going over a hundred different scenarios with his guild, all those spreadsheets and charts. God, he actually role-played with the Warlock! That was a humiliation for the ages, and he doesn't believe for one fucking second that Warlock didn't have the 'cam recording, no matter what the dude says. That's coming back to haunt him, guaranteed. At the time he'd figured it was worth the risk.

And it was all for nothing. It turned out to be simple. John said Yes.

Then it occurs to him that John actually didn't answer him at all. 

He rolls back onto his side, prods John in the ribs until he groans. "WHAT?"

"Wait. Is that a yes?"

"We gotta wear suits?"

"John."

"Nothing wrong with gettin' hitched in a nice pair of jeans, comfortable shoes instead of those fancy dress shoes that pinch your feet—"

"John."

"They always pinch your toes, you ever notice that?" John shakes his head. "Nah, you wouldn't, all you ever wear are those sneakers. What ya think, kid? Jeans, maybe a nice T-shirt?"

"Don't push your luck, McClane."

He's fairly certain he sees John's lips upturn into the patented McClane smirk, even in the gloom of the darkened bedroom. And he wants to think that this discussion of a possible ceremony is all the confirmation he needs. But this is John McClane, and when John McClane has something to say he basically comes out and says it. Matt's suddenly glad the lights are off and John can't see the blush that quickly spreads up his neck to his cheeks, can't see the way his ears are burning. Because his mind immediately flips to a couple of months after that damn fire sale, when he was still hobbling around on his bum leg and John was still bitching about his shoulder, and they spent endless hours next to each other on the sofa every night watching old movies and whatever game was playing on ESPN. Matt was trying his hardest back then to be on his best behaviour, telling himself that what he was doing was being pleasant and amiable and not actually flirting because that was doomed to failure and okay, so John was being pleasant and amiable back but that was just because under the gruff exterior John was actually kind of a cream-puff. And god only knows how long they'd have gone on like that if John hadn't suddenly declared that he was tired of all this "pussyfooting around" and grabbed him by the nape of the neck and drawn him in. Stared at him like he was seeing him for the first time, just holding him there, the blunt fingers of his hand pushing restlessly through the long strands of hair that trailed over the ratty collar of his T-shirt. Stared until Matt putt his hand on John's hip and closed the gap between them, felt the shaky exhale of John's breath on his lips.

So. Yeah. John says what he wants. And then he goes after it. And he hasn't actually said "yes" yet, so—

Matt worries at his bottom lip. Draws in breath to speak.

"Of course I wanna marry you, Matty," John says quietly. "I love you. That's what people in love do." He rolls over onto his side – stealing most of the blankets in the process – and punches at his pillow. "Now shut up and go to sleep, I gotta get up for work in four hours."

Matt sinks back onto his side of the bed, unable to wipe the smile from his face. He does his best to sound put-upon, however. John expects it, after all. "You have to get up, so I have to sleep. How does this make any sense to you, McClane?"

John sighs. "Ain't too late for me to change my answer, kid."

"Hah," Matt crows. "That's where you're wrong. A verbal agreement is a legally binding as a written contract, provided that both parties are in their right minds – okay, granted, you might have some wiggle room there, McClane – and aware that said conversation constitutes a promise in the future to—

John really shouldn't be able to move so fast, not with the whole old injuries and getting up there in age thing. But John is hovering over him, pinning him to the bed and sticking his tongue down his throat before Matt is able to blink, and after the moment of shock wears off he just goes with the flow. This kind of reaction from McClane is one of the advantages to having a blinding intellect paired with the inability to prevent all that knowledge from spewing out of his mouth whenever it feels like it.

When John finally pulls away to grip his chin, Matt has to blink rapidly to keep him in focus. 

"Shut. Up." 

Matt would respond with something witty, except most of his higher brain function is being utilized to stop himself from grinding up into John like a dog in heat. Damn hormones. By the time he's come up with a response that doesn't sound like gibberish, John has already flopped back onto his side of the bed and curled up on his side, eyes closed and breathing even. 

Matt spends the time waiting for his heart rate to return to normal by scowling at John's chest and considering the many and varied ways he can get back at him the next day. He finally settles on planning an engagement party. 

He wonders what John's reaction will be to the male strippers.


End file.
